


Get Well Soon

by JustAGirl24



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chicken Soup, F/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5442353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAGirl24/pseuds/JustAGirl24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne is sick. Jaime takes care of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Well Soon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts), [radiofreeamy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiofreeamy/gifts), [Coraleeveritas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coraleeveritas/gifts), [alors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alors/gifts).



> For ikkiM and Coraleeveritas, radiofreeamy and alors, who are all sick. (Injured and medicated is a kind of sick, Amy and alors!) I hope this pointless little piece of fluff makes you smile. Get better soon, ladies!

"Wench!"

Brienne was startled awake by the sound of her bedroom door hitting the wall. She shot up in bed, trying not to shriek before she registered that it was Jaime--stupidly gorgeous, infuriating Jaime--standing in her doorway.

 _"What?"_ she tried to snarl, but her voice came out as little more than a croak.

Jaime blinked once. "You weren't at the office." He paused and ran a critical gaze over her face and hair. "You look awful."

Brienne felt her face flush from more than just the fever. _As if she didn't look awful most of the time?_ "I'm sick, you idiot!" Her breath was whistling through her stuffy nose with each exhale. _Ugh._

He frowned, his green eyes dark. "I know that." He shook the white paper bag she'd finally noticed he was clutching in his left hand. "I brought you chicken noodle soup from Hot Pie Deli."

She felt a lump rise in her throat at his unexpected thoughtfulness, then immediately scolded herself for getting so emotional. _It's_ _just soup,_ she reminded herself.

He was staring at her, an inscrutable look on his face. "What I'm wondering is why I had to find out from your supervisor, instead of from you."

She stared back, not knowing what to say. How did she explain that no one had taken care of her when she was sick since she'd moved out of her father's house?

Jaime stepped into the dim room, putting the bag on her nightstand amongst the crumpled tissues. He sat on the edge of the bed, gentle fingers pushing through her sweat-damp hair.

"I can't do boyfriend-y things when you're sick if you don't tell me you're sick," he murmured, a fond note to his voice.

There was that godsdamned lump again. Oh well, she could blame it on being sick. She just nodded as he combed her hair behind her ear.

"Are you hungry?"

Brienne hesitated. "Not really," she rasped.

He nodded, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers, seeming not to care about her chapped lips, her red-raw nose, her hot, clammy skin.

She pushed him away after a brief moment. "I don't want you to catch it," she muttered.

Jaime huffed out a quiet laugh. "I happen to like your cooties," he murmured with a grin. "I believe I showed you just how much two nights ago. And three nights ago. And four."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling back, though her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion.

"Sleep, wench," Jaime said, his voice mock-stern.

Brienne rolled her eyes again, but couldn't fight a yawn. She rolled over and burrowed deep under the covers, pressing her face against the cool fabric of her pillowcase. She was nearly asleep when she felt a breeze against her back and a gentle nudging against her hip, a little grumbly noise escaping her.

Jaime snickered. "Bed hog," he muttered. "Move over and share." She sighed, dragging herself closer to the middle of the bed, Jaime quickly spooning up behind her. His arm settled around her waist, her fingers curling around his stump. Jaime's lips pressed against her shoulder, his soft, golden hair tickling the nape of her neck.

"Luh you," she mumbled, almost asleep again.

Jaime kissed her thin, brittle hair. She could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "Love you, too."

She slept.


End file.
